The Clever Thief
by Kerowyn
Summary: Sequel to A Hard Day's Night. Aurora Harland is a retired thief. Sherlock Holmes is, well, Sherlock Holmes. The two unlikely partners find themselves in the 21st century. A convict had escaped & Aurora's past drops in for an unwelcome visit.
1. Author's Note

hmmm. this place, it looks vaguely familiar. like i might have been here before.   
  
muchos apologies to all my peeps out there for the ultra long wait for the sequel to "A Hard Day's Night." you know how it is when real life attacks you...  
  
You may have noticed that the first two stories could be considered one continuous story. This was not done on purpose. Although, it does make for some very nice cliffhangers. If you haven't read the first two stories ("To Catch A Thief" and "A Hard Days Night") don't worry, you don't need to read them to understand this one. However, I would be undyingly grateful if you perused them and gave me your opinion.   
  
This is dedicated to all the teachers, especially the ones who don't mind me drafting stories in their class. Most especially Srta. Mau, Sna. Weismeyer, and Sr. Fisher in whose classes this little opus was conceived and written. God bless the Spanish Dept.  
  
¡Disclaimer! Holmes and Watson et. al. do not belong to me. I know, it surprised me too. I make no profit from this, so no suing. However Aurora et. al. do belong to me, which is some small consolation. Constructive critcism is always welcome, but if you flame, I may sic Aurora on you.  
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	2. Synopsis

I hate summaries. I always take too long about them, and they turn into little stories of their own. I am called by many names (and several epithets) but there are only two you need to know. Aurora (to my friends) and Onyx (to my coworkers). You see, I am a professional thief. Or rather, I was, until one successful job brought in enough cash for me to start the business of my dreams.   
  
Nothing is ever that simple. Due to an accident with a time machine and a moose (don't ask) I was inadvertently kicked back just about one hundred and fifteen years. One moment I'm walking down a London street with my partner in crime (literally) and the next I'm fending off toughs in an alley. And doing a bloody good job too, I might add. And the moment after that, I'm faking unconsciousness in the famous sitting room of Sherlock Holmes. Long story short, we became very good friends, despite a few minor misunderstandings.   
  
Upon arrival back in the good ol' modern era, I tracked down the scientist with the time machine and cut him a deal. I would continue to fund his experiments in temporal mechanics, if he would let me visit Baker Street every once and a while.   
  
On my next visit to Holmes and Watson, I arrived just in time to help solve a murder case in a rather grand fashion. Here's where it gets interesting. Holmes and I were hanging about in his apartment, waiting for the 21st Century Express to roll by, when someone decided to make good on one of the death threats Holmes received on a regular basis. One broken window later and Holmes is helping me to my feet, asking if I'm alright. Perfect moment to break to commercial. And now, back to our show.  
  
=/\= Aurora Harland =/\=  
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	3. Welcome to the Future!

Chapter the First  
  
Welcome to the Future  
  
Shattered glass. Hard floors and electric buzzing. Ouch. That hurt. Sensations resolved themselves into coherent form. I lay still, waiting for my brain to complete a systems check. Data coming in from all stations. Nothing was broken, though my nose was smushed against the floor at a rather awkward angle. Satisfied that everything was working correctly, I rolled over onto my back, and immediately wished I hadn't.  
  
It felt like a million paper cuts all at once. Shards of glass from the broken window had left several superficial cuts on my back. It wasn't much of an injury, but it had utterly ruined my Victorian-style dress. I yelped, more in shock than pain and jumped to my feet. This attracted the attention of the other occupant of the round white room.   
  
"You don't happen to have a key do you?" Holmes asked.  
  
The shock of seeing him there sent my still skittish nerves flying in all directions. The mechanical whine changed pitch. That didn't sound good at all. It sounded rather like my computer, right before the appearance of the dreaded Blue Screen of Death. Sparks began to fly from the arcane electrical equipment overhead. The florescent lights flickered fitfully while I scrambled off the steel and chrome platform.   
  
Holmes decided to take the initiative and kick down the door. It gave way instantly. The room beyond was less white, but far more cluttered with esoteric electric devices. The wizard who normally presided over these machines currently had his head buried in circuitry. Only after he banished the sparks and the small electrical fire did he acknowledge our existence.  
  
"This is all your fault!" He cried. "The machine was calibrated for one. One! Not two, one!"  
  
"I wasn't trying to break it!" I snapped back.  
  
"Weeks! This will take weeks to fix." Alden buried his head in another circuit panel. He was still yelling at me for breaking his precious equipment, but the words were now muffled. I turned to Holmes, who was taking this rather drastic shift in location with remarkable aplomb.   
  
"Um…" Marvel before my eloquence. Holmes was taking this remarkably well. I would probably be freaking right on out if I got pulled a hundred years into the future, what with the flying cars and the robots and everything.   
  
"This is the twenty first century?" He said. I nodded. "It's very…" He was interrupted by a circuit board flying across the room. "…cluttered." I thought that statement was a bit rich, coming from the bachelor extraordinaire.  
  
"It will take at least a week for me to order all the parts that I need!" Alden finished, waving another fried circuit board at me.   
  
"If you would just get the damn thing working properly, it wouldn't turn into Microsoft flambé every time you turned it on!" I snapped back. Alden subsided into vague mutterings. "Now, how long will it take for you to fix it?"  
  
"Well," Alden stood back and surveyed his domain. "The chronoton regulator is burnt out, the power core is no longer aligned properly with the neutron intake valves, and the targeting sensors are still smoldering."  
  
"In English?"   
  
"One week, maybe longer. I can't order these parts out of a catalogue you know. Who are you?" Alden finally deigned to notice Holmes.  
  
"Sherlock Holmes." Alden showed no sign of recognizing the name.  
  
"Hmph. Try not to suss anything up while you're here." Alden grumbled and puttered out of the room. Holmes raised an eyebrow at me. I threw up my hands.  
  
"Honestly, that was downright social for Alden. C'mon we need to get you something to wear."  
  
"Pardon?"   
  
"My dear Holmes, that may have been the height of fashion back on Baker Street, but here it'll make you stick out like- like- I dunno, something that sticks out really well."   
  
~*~~*~~*~  
  
Twenty minutes later and we were cruising back to London in my Jeep. One of the primary problems of time travel, is that people will insist on changing their fashions every generation or so. Thus, in order to avoid detection, the time traveler must be wearing a reasonable approximation of recent fashions. Failure to do so may result in your being hauled off to the loony bin.   
  
Holmes looked rather sharp in modern clothes. Of course, it was hard to tell what he thought, because his eyes were locked on the road with an expression of something near terror. My driving has that effect on most people. The automobile was already available in 1888, though you had to be Bill Gates rich to afford one, so he hadn't been surprised by this particular piece of modernity.  
  
"It's only fair to let you crash at my place." I was saying. "You let me in often enough."   
  
"A decision which I am now beginning to regret. Look out."   
  
"Whoops." I slowed down to avoid rear-ending the guy in front of me. Holmes continued determinedly.  
  
"Life would be simpler without you." I chuckled.  
  
"One might say the same about you. Besides, simple is boring." Holmes conceded the point. I frowned. Holmes was being far too genial about this, not at all his usual style. He was up to something.  
  
"I must confess that this- situation has me rather confused."  
  
"No kidding." I was glad Holmes had finally admitted it. For the first time in a long time, he was in way over his head.  
  
"How did this happen?"  
  
"I honestly don't know." I paused to take a roundabout. The Jeep slid into a space in traffic like a hand into a glove. Four heartbeats later and the Jeep was shooting out the other side without dropping below 40 mph.   
  
"I guess because you were holding onto me when the time machine kicked in, you got pulled along for the ride."  
  
"Very nice Aurora, would you please place your hands back on the wheel." I sighed. I should know by now not to talk to people when I was driving; they never listen.  
  
Alden's time lab was located in Oxfordshire, just outside a dot on the map called Stanford in the Vale. It wasn't what you'd call far from London but the trip was made longer by that near sentient entity called London traffic. It consisted of mainly sitting and waiting and fruitless honking by those few morons determined to drive the rest of us insane.   
  
  
  
I wondered what was going through Holmes' brain. Most modern technology, cars, radio and so forth, was in its infant stages during Holmes' era. I decided against asking. There was no way that he going to give me a straight answer.   
  
"Where exactly are we going?" Holmes asked, when I was forced to slow down by a large truck.  
  
"You remember that pearl I, uh, acquired?" Stole, actually. From the British Museum. Got away scot-free too. Holmes repressed a smile; he was supposed to be on the other side of the fence after all.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, it was worth quite a bit of money. Enough for me to buy out the owner of a pub near the Thames." The man had been delighted to take the amount I'd offered and head off to a nice retirement in Devon. "There's a lovely flat upstairs." Two actually, I made a killing in rent from the couple upstairs, and I wasn't even charging that much by the standards of London real estate.  
  
Sometimes, I look out at London traffic, and I'm almost home in Manhattan again. The same packed streets, arcane traffic laws and crazy cab drivers. The same dearth of parking. I stowed the Jeep in a parking garage a block from the pub.   
  
Holmes was back in his element. The gritty streets of the great cesspool hadn't changed all that much over the century, but for a few neon signs here and there.   
  
"Interesting name." Holmes commented. I glanced up at the carved wooden sign. It depicted a grinning rogue relieving a man of his wallet, while the words "The Clever Thief" curled around him.   
  
"That's the original name too." Holmes raised an eyebrow. Man, did he ever look like Spock when he did that. "No, really! Why do you think I bought this one?"   
  
The Clever Thief is a pub in the old fashion, with plenty of oak paneling and dim lighting. The bar took up the entire length of the right hand wall. The biggest TV that I could mount hung over one end of the bar, playing nonstop ESPN. A few pool tables and dart boards lived in peaceful coexistence in the back near the kitchen. The pub was currently about half full of men who were out for a beer with the mates and men plotting the next illicit activity.  
  
  
  
"Evenin' Aurora." Malaika waved a dish towel at me. I waved back and headed over to the bar. "How was your day off?"  
  
"Pretty good. How are the kids?" Mala had three of them, who were at four, five, and six. Brave woman.   
  
"Good. Maria discovered my makeup, and painted some very pretty pictures on the wall with it."   
  
"Ouch." I remembered Holmes. "Mala, this is Holmes, a friend from college. Holmes this is Malaika. She makes sure this whole operation doesn't fall down around me." The Kenyan woman blushed, but didn't deny the claim. It was accurate after all.  
  
"It is a pleasure." Holmes said graciously, bowing over her hand like an appropriate Victorian gentlemen. He looked like a right git.   
  
"Now where did you dig him up?" Mala laughed softly. "They don't make them like him anymore."   
  
"Nope." I agreed. We headed up the stairs. Like most buildings in this part of town, the upper floors were designed to be apartments. Since I'd bought the entire building, it made more sense to move in rather than try to find another apartment in London's impossible real estate market.   
  
I was now glad I had decided to invest in one of those schnazzy fold out sofa-beds. It really wasn't too late, by either of our standards, but something about time travel really takes the energy out of you. It gives the term 'jet-lag' a whole new meaning.  
  
And so, we went to bed. What a dramatic way to end the chapter.  
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	4. Meet The Gang

holy schnikes this took forever to get up. i need like an alarm clock to remind me to update or something...  
  
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Chapter Two  
  
Meet The Gang  
  
When I woke up the next morning, it took me a few moments to piece together what had happened the night before. The return of my memory was facilitated by the sharp pain in my back when I rolled over. My wounds had not miraculously healed overnight (as they are wont to do in the movies) nor were they painless. So I did what anyone would do in this situation; I called my doctor.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey, sis. What's up?"  
  
"What did you do now?"  
  
"It was legal." There was a snort of disbelief on the other end of the phone. My sister knew what I really did for a living, and I knew that she knew and she knew that I knew that she knew and it was all good so long as our parents didn't find out.   
  
"What is so important that you have to bug me at four in the morning?"  
  
"I thought you were working nights this month?"  
  
"Yeah, working. You know some of us actually have to make an honest living."  
  
"Oh, please miss 'I only get paid 100k a year.' Can't even spare a few moments for your poor sister scraping a living in a foreign land."  
  
"What did you do this time?"  
  
"Just a couple of lacerations on my back. There's only one that looks deep."  
  
"How big?"  
  
"Er… about an inch."  
  
"Don't worry about stitches. Keep an eye out for infection. Take two aspirin and call me at a decent hour." Celeste hung up before I could get in a witty retort. It was so nice to have a doctor in the family.  
  
I went out to the living room, and received my second shock of the day. There was a fictional character sleeping on my couch. Holmes looked like he was still asleep, but I wouldn't count on it. As I well knew, faking unconsciousness is an excellent method of gathering information. I turned on the coffee maker and yawned. Then something caught my eye and I froze.  
  
It was "The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" in two volumes. I had bought it on my return from Baker Street. If he read those books, well, I wasn't sure what would happen, but I was pretty sure it wouldn't be good. I pulled the volumes off the shelf and stuck them in a box. Then I thought again and went back for my old history books from college. Once I had them all packed up I wrestled the box downstairs, now quite sure that Holmes was faking somnolence.   
  
"Hey Mala." I greeted one of the three occupants of the pub. The only sign that she had gone home for the night was her new outfit.  
  
"What's all this?" She replied, looking sideways at the box.  
  
"I have an odd request." I began. "I want you to take these books and stash them at your place for a few days." Mala examined the contents and looked up at me, puzzled.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You know that guy who crashed on my sofa last night? Well, he's actually a time traveler from the year 1890 and I have to keep the future a secret from him so he doesn't suss it up when he goes back to the days of yore."  
  
Mala chuckled. "You're unique Aurora, I'll give you that. I guess that means I don't really want to know."   
  
"Probably." I grinned in reply. "It's nothing illegal, I promise."   
  
Mala shook her head, but didn't say anything. I headed back upstairs and was rather alarmed when I entered the living room to find it empty. Holmes' proved easy to find though, because three seconds later I heard the sweet sounds of Daniel Beddingfield playing at high volume. Holmes had found my music folder.  
  
My flat wasn't as big as, say, a house, but it was large enough that the computer could warrant its own room. Granted, I had bigger closets, but it was a room. Holmes was fiddling with the speakers. Being the bright boy that he is, he quickly found the volume knob.  
  
"Having fun?"   
  
"I assumed from the keyboard that it was a kind of typewriter. It certainly doesn't look like a gramophone." Holmes replied. "What else does it do?"  
  
"You can play games on it. That's about it."  
  
"These?" Holmes found the pop up menu labeled "Games" and was scanning the titles. I was busy trying to think of something to distract him before he decided to find out what an "Internet Explorer" was.  
  
  
  
"What happened to the books on those shelves?" Holmes asked calmly, now pressing buttons on the keyboard at random to see what would happen. There were some rather gaping holes on my bookshelf. Clever, asking as if he'd simply observed the missing books, rather than been awake the whole time.  
  
"If you could go back in time to stop a murder from happening, would you?" Holmes opened his mouth, perhaps to say that was a dumb question, but I cut him off. "The real question is should you? Actions have a ripple effect. Take Caesar, you could go back and save him from the Senate. It might seem like a good idea at the time, but the consequences are so complex that it baffles the mind."  
  
"A carefully calculated alteration could produce results that would change the course of events for the better." Holmes pointed out.  
  
"Or it could screw the world over so completely that there would be no fixing it. We know that this way the world isn't blown to bits. Sometimes you gotta know when to leave well enough alone."  
  
"So you have taken your history books to prevent me from – how did he say it – 'sussing' things up?" Holmes leaned back in the chair to consider this. "An interesting premise; that by knowing future events, one might affect them unintentionally." I decided to take this as a concession.   
  
  
  
"So this time machine…" I held up a hand to stop him.  
  
"If you want to know how the damn thing works, ask Alden. As far as I'm concerned it's magic."   
  
Another Spock-like eyebrow. "Really?"   
  
"Yep. Magic."   
  
"Fascinating."  
  
~*~~*~~*~  
  
Hanging out with Holmes had always been a rather surreal experience, but this was just a whole new level of weird.   
  
"Here, here and here." I pulled khakis, a few shirts and a sweater from the racks. But for a few superficial differences (namely the designer label) they could have been 19th century clothes. Guys have it so easy when it comes to clothes. I shooed him into the fitting room and went off to drool over the skirts. I'd always had a weakness for girly clothes, but they were often so impractical. No place to hide a lock pick set in spaghetti straps.   
  
"Well?" I glanced up from a cute pair of stilettos that I would never dare walk in. Holmes looked exactly like every other guy I had ever dragged shopping; highly uncomfortable. Hmm, not bad. He looked like a college boy, but that couldn't be helped.   
  
"It'll do."   
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	5. Rugby Night

Chapter Three  
  
Rugby Night  
  
The Clever Thief Pub patrons are an interesting mix of blue-collar workers, bored adolescents, thieves, mercenaries, smugglers and sports fans. You know how in those cop shows on TV the stressed out cop always introduces his youthful partner to a slightly dubious contact in the underworld? Yeah, that would be me. I tried to stay neutral in all cases (see below) but there were some things I wouldn't tolerate.   
  
There were three basic rules at The Clever Thief. Rule Number One: You break it, you bought it. Rule Number Two: This is not your headquarters; leave your business outside. Rule Number Three: I am not your character witness; you get caught, I deny all knowledge of you. Rule Number Two was more of a formality than anything else. Like every other group of people in the world, mercenaries love to network, and The Clever Thief was a convenient place to do it in.  
  
Tonight, however, the criminal aspect of The Clever Thief was lying low. Tonight, was rugby night.  
  
"Go! Go! Go! No!" The clutch of Saracens fans at the end of the bar chanted, moaning when the Shoguns forward picked off a toss. The slightly smaller bunch of Shoguns followers cheered heartily. Holmes was as fascinated by the technology as he was by the match.   
  
"Aurora, how…?"  
  
"Magic."   
  
There was no getting anything done in The Clever Thief tonight; even the die-hard pool sharks gave in after a particularly spectacular goal by the Saracens and the resulting cheer caused one of them to jump the cue right off the table. The professional odds-makers had the Shoguns as the slight favorite. I had a small bet riding on the Saracens. Hey, you got to support your team.   
  
The good guys won in the end though, (17-16) and I was richer by ten whole pounds. The sports fans camped out at the bar, dissecting some of the more interesting plays until closing time, which was rather early for two reasons. #1: It was Sunday and #2 it was Mala's obligatory day off. I had come to the conclusion that she was either a robot or a zombie because she just didn't seem to sleep, or even get tired, despite a full time job and three kids.  
  
"So the television…"  
  
"Magic."  
  
"And the time machine?"  
  
"Magic."  
  
"The radio?"  
  
"And the cars and the computer and parking meters. All gifts from the magical technology fairies."  
  
"Fascinating." Lord help me, I've got Spock for a roommate.   
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	6. Family and Friends

A/N : Hank Riddle - oh dearie me! i love long reviews. never fear, your question shall be addressed in the next few lines.  
  
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Chapter Four  
  
Family and Friends  
  
It would have been a great vacation (for both of us). No one was trying to kill us, the pub was doing a steady trade and I had to send my PC home with Mala to keep Holmes from figuring out the internet. In short, life was good. This is the first sign that things are about to go to hell in one big-ass hand basket.  
  
The lunch hour crowd of workers and tourists was filing out and the mercenaries were filing in, looking for their morning pick-me-up. Mala and I were behind the bar, cleaning up and getting ready for the dinner crowd.  
  
"Hey Onyx?"   
  
"Yeah T?" T (being short for three fingers of whiskey) polished off his namesake drink before replying.  
  
"That boy a bouncer of yours?" He gestured at Holmes, who was currently relieving a pair of teenage hustlers of their money after they had mistaken him for a college boy. I'd never seen Holmes play pool before, but (naturally) he was quite good at it.  
  
"Bouncer? What do I need a bouncer for? I got Mala here." Mala grinned in a wicked sort of way. She kept a baseball bat under the counter and had used it to good effect on more than one occasion.   
  
Holmes finished his game and left the two boys good-naturedly blaming each other for the lost tenner.   
  
"What do they call you my friend?" T asked.  
  
"Holmes." T found this ironically amusing. Can't imagine why.  
  
"They call me T." He paused to sip at his second whiskey. "And what is your business, Mr. Holmes?" Holmes glanced at me. I simply smiled back. Holmes' powers of deduction were somewhat hampered by the intervening century. He couldn't be sure if T was mercenary or simple bar fly.   
  
"I am currently between projects." Smooth. T seemed to be contemplating hiring Holmes and I held my breath, not wanting to ruin it by bursting out in laughter. A pair of shady looking characters entered, glanced around suspiciously, then cleared a space for a third man and they all headed for a corner booth.   
  
"Here's to you, love." T dropped a note on the counter and went over to the corner booth.   
  
"He handles a great deal of tobacco and is often near pools of standing water." Holmes said quietly. "I'm afraid I'm not sure what that means in the context of this period. What is his 'business'?"   
  
"Tobacco." I confirmed. "Rather, the smuggling of tobacco.Death may be inevitable, but taxes ain't."   
  
"Is everyone in this establishment a criminal?"   
  
"Not really, we got sports fans too. Besides, I seem to recall seeing you leading our youth down the path of gambling and delinquency." The bell over the door rang and I glanced up. You know that feeling you get when you don't know whether to be angry, scared or just run for cover?   
  
" 'lo Onyx." If the man had been wearing a hat he would be clutching it in his hands. Instead he ran a hand through his brown hair. "I need your help."  
  
"Keep looking. You aren't welcome here Robin." I began to feel under the edge of the bar for Mala's bat. Robin wasn't much of a threat, but his drinking buddies usually were.   
  
"I'm in over my head this time." Nothing new there. Robin had a talent for getting involved in schemes that were doomed to failure.   
  
"Please Onyx? Just hear me out." Damn. I always was a sucker for hard luck cases. I sighed loudly and waved Robin on.   
  
"Yes, well, you see there was this gang…" Robin also had a talent for going off on tangents. In summary, he had been involved with the Tigers, a rather well known (in the underworld at least) gang of car thieves. About a year ago, they had been running your standard steal-and-sell scam. Steal the cars from London and ship them to Hong Kong, where they were sold. A gang in China did the same thing in reverse. Both groups wired the money (minus a small finder's fee) to a single, larger syndicate. Simple, effective, and highly lucrative. That is, until the bobbies got wind of their little scam and sent in a couple of undercover agents.  
  
"I was the only one to get away." Robin finished mournfully.   
  
"I'm sure all the money you got away with helped ease the pain." Robin winced and shifted uncomfortably on his bar stool. "You didn't get away with the money?" I asked incredulously.   
  
"I got away with it," Robin replied defensively, "all one million pounds. I just...lost it. It was supposed to be a sure bet." Robin muttered to himself.  
  
"So let me guess. One of your erstwhile partners has gotten parole and is coming for their cut of the money."  
  
"Not so much got parole as staged a massive and rather destructive prison breakout. Skyler will…"   
  
"Who?!"  
  
"Skyler. It's been on the news all weekend." Robin replied, confused. "Where have you been?"  
  
"On vacation." A stress headache was beginning to throb in my left temple.   
  
"What am I going to do Aurora? You know him better than anyone. He'll kill me if he finds me and I don't have the money!" Well, Skyler probably wouldn't actually kill him. Probably.  
  
"My advice to you, my friend, is to skip town." Robin deflated ever so slightly.  
  
"I was hoping you'd let me crash here."   
  
"Robin, the gods gave you brains, would it trouble you ever so slightly to use them once in a while? If Skyler has broken out, where do you think the first place he'll come to will be?" Robin started as this thought occurred to him.   
  
"Oh…" It was a wonder Robin had lasted this long as a criminal. No brains at all. It was about this point in the conversation that I realized that Holmes was still listening in. Crap, crap and double crap.   
  
"Listen Robin. Sell the house, get on a plane, and go very far away. If he can't find you in London he'll just give up." Robin looked doubtful, but kept any comments to himself. Instead he scurried back out into the London night. I continued to watch the door, painfully aware of Holmes watching me, waiting for an explanation.   
  
"Who is Skyler?" He asked finally. Good question.  
  
"You can't tell me?" I was aiming for lighthearted and fell somewhat short of the mark. Holmes took the challenge seriously.  
  
"Obviously a criminal, and a rather dangerous one. You know him well, but have not been in touch with him for the past few years. You told me once that the only person you ever worked with was Mr. Wes, so that rules out a former partner." Holmes thought silently for a moment. "An ex-suitor?" Suitor? Yeesh.  
  
"Sorry Holmes, nothing so simple as that. Skyler is my brother."  
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	7. Ugh

Chapter Five  
  
Ugh  
  
"Your brother?" Holmes seemed rather surprised by the notion. "I was unaware that you had any siblings."  
  
"You and everyone else. I try not to broadcast the fact. Besides the topic never really came up." I pointed out. Mala and the annoying Robin were among the very few people who knew.  
  
"A falling out?" Holmes stated.  
  
"More like a get-the-hell-out-of-my-life. But yeah." I didn't elaborate, and he didn't press the subject. Just as well, it was a novel length story, and it looked to be getting longer. I just hoped that Skyler would have enough sense to steer clear. Then again, sense never ranked high on Skyler's list of personality traits.  
  
So I was less than surprised when the next day, Skyler waltzed in my front door. Mala was in the back discussing the dinner menu with her cook/husband. It was in that lazy lull after all the office drones have gone back to their hives, but before the early birds started showing up for their specials.   
  
Holmes was teaching the two teens from last night the finer points of being a pool shark. I was getting bored watching ESPN reply the Sunday night games' highlight for the billionth time. The remote was under the bar so I began channel surfing.  
  
"Hey! I was watching that!" One of the teens called out in faux annoyance.   
  
"Hey, shouldn't you be in school?" I responded without looking around. There were no further comments.   
  
The bell over the door rang. I glanced over. I did a double take. Just looking at us you wouldn't think we were related; no one was quite sure where my red hair had come from. Skyler wore his blond hair slightly shaggy; no doubt because he felt that the chicks dug it. He did have the trademark Harland green eyes though. He also looked as if he had just rolled out of bed, which was probably the case.  
  
"Hey sis!"   
  
"Don't you 'Hey sis!' me." I snapped back. "You've got nerve Skyler. Not a lot of brains, but nerve."  
  
"Aw, come on. You're not still mad about that apartment thing." The clack of pool balls ceased in the background.  
  
"'That apartment thing' hardly does it justice."  
  
"It was just business, nothing personal." I felt my blood pressure shoot up a few points. Deep breaths girl. Stay cool. It won't help if you rip his head off. Much. I'd probably feel a bit better though.  
  
"I need your help Aurora. The cops are after me."  
  
"So what else is new. Maybe you haven't heard, but I'm not in the business any more."  
  
"Just for a few days. I just need to collect some money then I'm headed back for the States."  
  
~With police at every airport on the look-out for you? Right.~ I bit my tongue on that thought and replied, "Good, you can start by leaving now. The door's right over there, or do you need some one to show you the way?"  
  
I glanced at Holmes, who had sneakily worked his way into Skyler's blind spot. Skyler followed my gaze over his shoulder and jumped to find Holmes there.  
  
"We're family." Skyler said, somewhat bewildered and backpedaling a few steps.   
  
"No, we were family. Family doesn't do what you did." Finally it penetrated his skull. "Get lost. Don't come back."  
  
"Fine. Nothing personal." Skyler slammed the door on his way out. It would have been nice to have a chair I could sink into right now. I felt very tired all of a sudden.  
  
"Yeah, nothing personal."  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	8. Chinese Food

Chapter Six  
  
Chinese Food  
  
The fiasco in the pub did not go unnoticed by Mala. She practically threw me upstairs with orders to take the night off.   
  
"Order Chinese food, spend some time with that friend of yours." She ordered, with a twinkle in her eye. Married people are such matchmakers. We were eating in the Japanese style (sitting on the floor, with the food on the coffee table) because I had never felt the need to buy a dining room set.  
  
"May inquire after your, ah, associate Wes?" Holmes asked, after the mandatory chitchat about the quality of the food (quite good, BTW). A fair question. This whole mad situation was basically his fault.  
  
"His client was less than thrilled when Wes failed to obtain the desired item." I paused for thought, and some fried rice. Holmes was perfectly adept at using chopsticks (duh); he could even eat the rice with them, a trick I'd never gotten the hang of.   
  
The aforementioned Wes, my partner in crime, had accepted an independent commission to steal the British Crown Jewels. Someone got the brainwave that if the Jewels were too well protected now, one simply had to go back in time and steal them. Naturally, it all went horribly wrong and I wound up getting sent back as well.   
  
"When Wes failed to show up with the Jewels in hand, the buyer sicced his bodyguards on him. So Wes skipped town. He went to Australia originally. I thought it held a certain poetic irony. I think he's in Aruba or Cleveland or something now.  
  
"So you don't keep in touch then." Allow me to explain something here. For some time now Holmes had been laboring under the impression that there was a little somethin' somethin' going on between us. Understandable, since to the Victorian mind, if he's not your father or your brother, he's probably your fiancé. I love Wes, but not like that.   
  
"Wes is a big boy. He can take care of himself."  
  
Holmes chuckled quietly. "You are a unique individual Aurora."  
  
"So long as that's a compliment."  
  
"It is." Right about this point, I noticed how very close to me Holmes was sitting. Uh oh. WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo?  
  
Kiss him!  
  
No, look away!  
  
No, don't move!  
  
Don't move? That's a stupid idea!  
  
Shut up!  
  
You shut up!  
  
No, you shut up!  
  
Shut up all of you!  
  
Whilst I was losing the argument with myself, Holmes had his mind made up. Lean in for the kiss, camera pan away, slow fade to black.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	9. Good Morning Sunshine

A/N; you cursed, you threatened. i listened. sorta. here at last is a new chapter. i warn in advance that this project is taking me a whole lot longer than i expected. hopefully we'll see a new chaper before the new year. *cross fingers*   
  
Feliz Navidad! (or whatever)  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Chapter Seven  
  
Good Morning Sunshine  
  
Coffee. Must have coffee. One of the perks of living above a restaurant; there is always a pot of coffee going somewhere in the building. So I was sitting downstairs in the kitchen, sipping a mug of coffee in my pajamas and grimacing a the taste because I hadn't bothered to open my eyes when I was adding sugar and accidentally used those pink packets of nasty fake sugar.  
  
And just in case you're wondering; no I did not sleep with Holmes. Yes I know, I was disappointed too. But Holmes was far too Victorian for anything more than a kiss. However this brought up one of the reoccurring themes in my relationships with men. Specifically the unattainable ones. This relationship was doomed from the start. While the whole opposites-attract theory held a certain aura of romance, it played merry hell with emotions. As a rather eccentric friendship it worked. But as more than that…   
  
I yawned and shook myself, trying to knock such thoughts from my head. I heard movement in the pub.   
  
"In the kitchen Holmes." I called out. The footsteps abruptly stopped then approached the swinging kitchen door. Holmes came, already dressed in a sweater and jeans, looking about as nondescript as it is possible to be at six foot. He glanced at my outfit. I pushed up the sleeves of my dressing gown, determined not to be embarrassed that I looked as I'd just rolled out of bed.  
  
"How did you know it was me?" He asked, with only the faintest tinge of annoyance in his voice. I had to bite my tongue to keep from replying "Elementary."  
  
"Mala always wears high heels, and the people who live on the top floor use the side entrance. Since the pub isn't open yet, there is only one possible candidate left. Those new sneakers of your squeak quite loudly." I said, and took a smug sip of coffee. I thought it was a pretty good deduction for this early in the morning.   
  
"What is that?" He said, looking pointedly at my coffee cup.  
  
"Coffee." He looked doubtful, but kept his comments to himself. I guess not too many people fix their morning coffee in a beer mug.   
  
There was an awkward silence. Holmes began his own elaborate preparations of a cup of java (in a proper cup). I gathered up my thoughts and then tried to think of an opening. Aw, hell. Just go for it.  
  
"Do you see this relationship going anywhere?" He very nearly dropped the cup.   
  
"What do you mean?" Excellent deflection. Even Holmes wasn't so completely dense in interpersonal matters.   
  
"Put it another way. Would you be willing to leave Baker Street and live here?" No reply. Just as I suspected.  
  
"And I wouldn't want to leave the Clever Thief. My life is here, your life is there. I hate long distance relationships." Holmes' shoulders didn't actually slump in relief, but he visibly relaxed. No doubt he'd been afraid I'd develop into the girlfriend-from-hell and be utterly co-dependant.  
  
"An excellent observation, I fear my interactions with the fairer sex tend toward the more unfortunate." He had a far off look in his eyes, and he made a visible effort to shake some thought out of his head. I really, really, really, really wanted to ask. I had to bite my tongue to stop from saying anything stupid, then I had to bite my tongue again to keep from saying 'Ow' from when I bit it the first time. Holmes, in the meantime, had returned his thoughts to the present.   
  
"Comrades then?"  
  
"Deal." And we shook on it. "Oh, you don't want those ones." I added, feeling the tension melting out of the room.  
  
"What?" Holmes stopped in mid-reach.  
  
"The pink ones. That's the fake sugar. Nasty." Holmes stared at the pink packet in his hand, as varying degrees of confusion and disbelief passed across his face.  
  
"Fake sugar?" He finally managed to say. "What in the name of heaven possessed you people to make fake sugar?"  
  
"I know; I don't understand it either." Holmes was still trying to wrap his mind around this concept (hell, it's been 20-something years and I'm still trying to puzzle it out) when my cell phone rang.   
  
We both jumped, Holmes because the sound of "Good Riddance" coming from thin air was a new experience, and I because I had forgotten I had my cell phone in my pocket. I had developed something of a dependence on my Nokia in college, so I always picked it up out of habit, even if I was still wearing PJs and a dressing gown.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Aurora? It's Mala. Sorry to knock you up at this hour." I repressed a snigger. I would never get used to that Briticism.   
  
"S'all good. I'm in the kitchen."   
  
"The police are here. They want to speak with you."  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	10. Good Cop, Bad Cop

Chapter Eight  
  
Good Cop, Bad Cop  
  
It was one thing to chat with a friend in your own kitchen in your PJs, it was quite another to be interviewed by the police in such an outfit. I told Mala to stall the cops as long as possible while I changed. The back entrance to the Clever Thief provided access the kitchen and the back staircase, convenient when one need to leave the building by means other than the front door.  
  
You are what you wear. People's first impression of you is generally based on the clothes you are wearing, and for good reason. You (consciously or unconsciously) project an image when you pick an outfit for the day. The cops aren't stupid of course; they train their officers to look for subtle clue about a person based on their outfit (á la Holmes). This is how I justify my rather voluminous wardrobe. I went for the innocent but competent look. A billowy skirt and loose embroidered tunic gave the proper impression, even if it did make me look like a hippie. Some chunky turquoise jewelry finished off the ensemble.  
  
I paused at the top of the main staircase and straightened my spine. This wasn't my first police interview, and it certainly wasn't going to be my last. The main problem was I didn't know what type of cop I would be facing. It could be the gruff-man-of-few-words or the sympathetic-rookie or the stressed-hard-ass or the ever popular I-am-woman-hear-me-roar cop. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for girl power, but sometimes certain feminists gave me migraines.   
  
I glided gracefully down the stairs, in keeping with my role, and surveyed the two representatives of London's finest.  
  
"Oh, Harris. It's you." Harris Bowman gave me a mock salute. The younger officer, probably a trainee, stiffed at the informal greeting. Harris and I were old pals from when he tried to arrest me for a little misunderstanding regarding a missing necklace.   
  
"Good to see you too lass. Been keeping busy have you?" Harris replied evenly, but managed to inject about four layers of meaning to the statement. Harris was an incurable ladies' man.  
  
"You know me. Bake sales and the ladies sewing circle." Harris chuckled and turned to the trainee.  
  
"Aurora, this is Officer Brows. I've been showing him the ropes." Officer Brows offered his hand formally. He tried to shake as quickly as possible, I wouldn't let him get away with that.  
  
"Take the rod out of you spine son. You feel a lot more comfortable." If anything Brows stood up straighter. Harris nobly refrained from chuckling.  
  
"Why don't you invite your friend in and we can all have a chat." Harris said amiably. I was startled for a moment; Holmes was definitely not in sight. Ah, I see now. He was eavesdropping at the kitchen door and he cast a shadow on the light coming from underneath the crack of the door.   
  
"You heard him, Holmes. Come on in."  
  
"Any friend of Aurora's is a suspect of mine." Harris said. "You already know our names."  
  
"My name is Sherlock Holmes." He replied with perfect equanimity. Brows visibly started. Harris shook his head and started to rummage in his pockets for his notebook, muttering about how he didn't get paid enough to deal with this sort of thing.  
  
"Right then. To business. I suppose you know what this is about?"  
  
"Skyler. I was wondering when you guys would get around to it." Brows twitched imperceptibly at the implied insult.   
  
"We were hoping he would come to you for help. Didn't want you to warn him off. I guess we needn't have worried. We know he was here last night."  
  
"Ah, did your boys on stakeout tell you that?"  
  
  
  
"Matter of fact they did." Harris confirmed. Brows gave me a suspicious look, as if shouldn't have been able to figure that out. My pub was a well known hang out for thieves, and therefore under more or less constant surveillance.   
  
"I take it that it wasn't a happy family reunion?"  
  
"My brother and I don't get on well."  
  
"Do you know where he's going?"  
  
"Immediately? No. He said he has a debt to collect and then he's going back to the City."  
  
"The City? Ah, you mean New York." I nodded. To a New Yorker, there was only one City.  
  
"You might want to try some of his former business partners."  
  
"We're doing that now. Needless to say they've been less than helpful." Harris muttered, scribbling in his notebook. "Speaking of which, do you know a Walter Lankenau aka Robin?"  
  
"Ah, vaguely." I replied cautiously. "Why?"  
  
"He turned state's witness against your brother and his friends. But he never actually testified. Since we had enough evidence, it didn't seem wise to put him at risk for recriminations."  
  
"Naturally." I agreed. "Why do ask?"  
  
"We were hoping you might know why Skyler put him in the casualty ward of St. Anne's last night." Brows spoke up suddenly with the same cheery air as an oracle of doom.  
  
"If Skyler didn't know Robin turned state's evidence, I can't think why he would go after him." I lied, thinking quickly.   
  
"Uh huh. If anything should recall itself to your memory," Harris slid his business card across the table, "be sure to give me call."   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	11. St Anne's

Chapter Nine  
  
St. Anne's  
  
They say it takes all kinds of people to make a world, and it looked like they had all sent a representative to the lobby of St. Anne's Hospital. The wizened old lady at the information desk had the brisk, unflappable air of a retired nurse. She directed a couple bearing a massive bunch of blue and pink balloons and dispatched a frantic young man to the emergency room with equal calm and turned to address me.   
  
"Good morning, dears. How may I help you?"  
  
"My cousin was brought in here yesterday. His name is Walter Lankenau." She punched some keys on her computer. Holmes watched a man with orange spiked hair and a dog collar pass by.  
  
"There's no one in the hospital by that name dear." She said, adjusting the sleeves of her puce volunteer jacket. "Any other names?" I tried a couple different spellings, and the name Robin Lankenau, but no luck. I tapped idly on the counter, thinking. It was highly doubtful that the police would have put Robin in the hospital database, at least under his own name.   
  
"Where's your cafeteria?" Holmes and I started off down the hall and around to the left, per the instructions of the lady at the desk.   
  
"Did you expect him to be in their files?" Holmes asked.  
  
"Not really. Worth a shot anyway. Sometimes those things slip through the cracks. Oooh, Frappachino." I bought some more caffeine and headed for a table to plot the next move.  
  
"If he is still here, he will be in one of the wards. That officer said he was in the casualty ward." Holmes said. "Though the room will probably be guarded."  
  
"Probably. I'm not worried about guards though. Casualty is kind of a general term; it could mean the emergency room or an actual patient floor. There's probably several miles of corridor in this hospital. It could take all day to find it." I glanced around the cafeteria. Aside from visitors, there were doctors, nurses, lab techs, random people in scrubs, volunteers, maintenance people, housekeeping people and one patient in the corner by the window.   
  
"Any of these people could probably tell us how to get there." Holmes commented.   
  
"The trick is to ask the right question. Excuse me?" I flagged down a passing teenager who was dressed in the same god-awful shade of red as the lady at the front desk.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm afraid we've gotten turned around. Can you tell us how to get back to the trauma unit?"  
  
"You mean the ACU?"   
  
"Uh, yeah that." It sound like as good a place to start as any. The volunteer gave directions that involved a great deal of pointing and we set off into the unknown.   
  
"Try not to look like such a tourist." I teased Holmes. He was staring at a tech hauling a portable X-Ray machine down the hall.   
  
"It is a shame that Watson was not able to join us." Holmes commented absently, ignoring me. "He would be in heaven. I have no doubt that just one of these machines could do a great deal for medical science."  
  
"Yeah, well, no touchie. Remember what I said about how we know nothing blows up in this version of history?"  
  
"Nevertheless…Aurora, what is that?" He gestured at what looked to be a computer screen mounted on a cart. Below the monitor were several very technical looking knobs and buttons.  
  
"It's an ultrasound machine. It uses ultrasonic waves for diagnostic or therapeutic purposes, specifically to image an internal body structure, monitor a developing fetus, or generate localized deep heat to the tissues."   
  
"What are you quoting?"   
  
"The textbook from my EMT, er, emergency medical technician class. Celeste and I took it together when she was gearing up for med school. She dared me that I would wuss out halfway through. I won hundred bucks on that." Ah, the good old days. I was pulled out of my reminisces by Holmes.  
  
"The Acute Care Unit. Her directions were accurate."  
  
"Try not to sound too shocked."  
  
Near the end of the hall sat a uniformed police officer in a folding chair, reading the newspaper and looking bored. On the wall across from the nurses' desk hung a large white board, marked with patient names and room numbers. The room at the end of the hallway was assigned to "Doe, John". I love it when things are this simple.  
  
I strode down the hall authoritatively, Holmes in tow. About halfway down, the bobby noticed us. A little after that he folded his paper and stood. After it became apparent that we were headed his direction he moved in front of the door and folded his arms across his chest.   
  
"I'm sorry mum- Ma'am. This room is off-limits to visitors." He couldn't have been more than twenty-five, a trainee stuck with grunt work. I summoned up my best West London dialect and countered.  
  
"I know, I know, security reasons and all that. May I just speak with him for five minutes? Walter is my brother and our mother is so worried over him, but of course she can't really get around and coming to a hospital she'd be sure to pick up something obscure." The officer's eyes were beginning to cross. "It would just be for a few minutes, to let him know that we're here for him and so forth."  
  
The officer blinked for a moment, weighing the likelihood that this hippie woman and the amiable, if silent, male she was towing in her wake could actually pose a threat to his charge.   
  
"Very well, but only for a few moments." Officer Bradshaw (as his nametag proclaimed him to be) opened the door and let us in, then placed himself at a discreet distance, well within earshot.   
  
  
  
"Hey brother, how's it going?" I pitched my voice up a half octave, grinning like a manic.   
  
"I'm on Vicodin, what's you excuse?" Robin said, more than a little confused. I gave him a quick medic's assessment. A black eye, concussion, maybe a few bruised ribs. He certainly wasn't anywhere near death's door, contrary to Officer Brows informed opinion.  
  
"Oh don't be difficult. We came all the way out here to make sure you're all right. Mum nearly gave herself a heart attack when she heard the news." Comprehension dawned on Robin's face.  
  
"Well you didn't have to tell her."  
  
"I didn't tell her, the police did. Called the house, all formal like." If I laid the annoying sister act on any thicker I could be on stage. "What have you done this time?"  
  
Robin opened his mouth to explain, but was interrupted by a "Harrumph!" from the young officer at the door.  
  
"That friend of yours has been leaving messages at the house, every hour, on the hour. What's his name, Francis?" Fortunately, Robin caught this. Skyler, according to the ancient and honoured Harland family tradition, generally went by his middle name. So instead of Francis, Agnes and Nancy, you had Skyler, Celeste and Aurora. Anyone noticing a pattern?  
  
"Er, yeah that. Um, it's about an old gambling debt." I could see the wheels of thought turning in Robin's head. "I don't think I'll be out of here for some time. Could you give it to him for me?"  
  
"I remember you telling me about that." I said trying not to sound too pissed off. "I thought you said you lost the money."   
  
"Forgive me, sister. I lied."  
  
"You always were a greedy bastard."  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	12. Traffic Jam

**_Chapter Ten_**

**_Traffic Jam_**

"Aurora," Holmes started and abruptly stopped. I knew what he was driving at, but he was trying very hard not to exacerbate any raw feelings. He of all people knew what family problems were like. He never told me anything directly, but I'd picked up enough to know that the Holmes' family history was something of a soap opera.

"Go ahead and ask. I won't bite your head off."

"Skyler is your brother, recently escaped from prison and on a vendetta to find the money he believes is his due. From outward appearances you have a great deal in common." There was a question implied in this statement.

"So why the hissy fit?" That was a doozy. I'd thought this one over myself. We were currently stuck in traffic en route to Islington. Motorcycles darted in and out of the lanes around us, like smaller fish around a pod of whales. I wished I dared change the classical CD in the player for something that fit my mood, like Rammstein. But somehow I didn't think Holmes would react well to German industrial angst music. Might be good for a laugh though…

Concentrate girl, concentrate.

"He's my brother and I love him, but that doesn't mean I like him. Skyler and I used to be close when we were kids but we just sorta drifted apart in high school. At the end of four years I didn't even know him anymore. He was running with his gang buddies and I was cracking safes. 

"There was a little unpleasantness with the police and I made New York 'too hot to hold me' as you would say. So I hopped a plane to London and fell in with Wes. A few years later Skyler shows up on my doorstep with Interpol hot on his heels.

"I agreed to let him join me in a solo gig. We were gonna split the money and he was going to head for the Caribbean.  This rich lord had an apartment in the suburbs and we were going to crack the safe. He tripped the alarm on purpose. If I hadn't been paying attention I would have been caught by the police and Skyler would have taken all the proceeds. I told him to make himself scarce, or the police would be getting an anonymous tip as to his whereabouts." I took a deep breath and sighed. It was quite the little speech and Holmes sat back to absorb it.

"He is your brother and a fellow thief. You feel it would be wrong to betray him to your common foe but are reluctant to let him walk free."

"Skyler's got issues. I don't know why. Everyone else in the family is normal." Holmes coughed. I ignored him. "He's not any good at self-control, no discipline. If I let him walk he'll just wreak havoc until he gets caught again." 

I didn't like the thought of him running loose in New York. There's this misperception that New York is a crime-ridden sink hole, but it really has some of the lowest per capita crime rates in the US. When you're a criminal it pays to know these things.

"The police have found him once. What makes you think they can't do it again?"

"Pfft. Harris might be able to do it. But I know all the mistakes I've done over the years, all the evidence I've left behind. They could build quite the tidy case against me if they could just get their act together."  

"I shall forget I heard that." Holmes said wryly. 

"Would you? Thanks." He'd been doing that sense of humor thing a lot more lately.

"You have made up- Dear Lord!" Holmes exclaimed as I spotted a parking place and swerved rather violently to wedge my Jeep into it.

"What?" Holmes appeared to be holding off a heart attack by force of will. "Parking's hard to get in this city, you gotta get while the getting's good."

Holmes attempted a retort, but I missed most of it because I had gotten out of the car. 

"What is this place?" We were parked outside of a rather nondescript restaurant. There were a dozen tables out on the sidewalk, and the green awning above the door read "Fratelli's." 

"This place," I replied, "is famous. This is Fratelli's Pizza."


	13. Divinity

Chapter Eleven  
  
Divinity  
  
There is a man who lives in a large loft in Islington. They call him Hermes. He cares little for the affairs of ordinary mortals and finds his joy in the wonders of technology. Alas, like the rest of us, he has to pay for rent and food somehow. Legend says that he originally worked for a video game company, but found the job less than challenging. So to obtain the necessary pizza and beer money, and decided to set himself up in the information technology business. Rumor had it that he hadn't left his building in ten years. I had some very safe money riding against that rumor, based on the fact that the building he lived in had been torn down and rebuilt seven years ago. But I digress.  
  
We stepped into an industrial service elevator and I hit the button for the top floor. Holmes eyed the whole contraption dubiously, but kept his comments to himself.   
  
"Holmes, this guy specializes in computers." I had been trying to explain the whole concept of computers to Holmes ever since he hacked his way into mine.   
  
"So try not to look surprised at the wonders of the modern age?" Holmes finished smugly. "My dear Aurora, I like to think that in all my years of detective work I have acquired a passable gambler's face." I rolled my eyes; I would never have to worry about Holmes developing an inferiority complex.  
  
The elevator deposited us on the top floor and began to creak back down to the ground floor. A brass gong sat in glorious incongruity atop a disassembled hard drive next to the elevator. I rang and an Indian woman emerged out of rows of metal shelving units. She raised an eyebrow in query. I held up the pizza by way of answer. She took it from me and lifted the lid, savoring the aroma of dead fish.  
  
"Onyx, right?"  
  
"Yeah. I don't believe I've had the pleasure."   
  
"Iris." We shook hands. "C'mon, he's been expecting you." We followed her through the shelves to a where a man sat, surrounded on three sides by more shelves piled with electronic components. The fourth side was taken up by a dozen television screens all tuned to different channels. I noted one was a security camera feed from a buttonhole camera in the elevator. In the center of the loft there was a horseshoe-shaped table with several computers humming away. At first glance there was no one else in the room.   
  
"Hermes, your friends are here."  
  
"Ah, Onyx m'dear." A muffled voice came from under the table. I bent over to see Hermes sprawled under the table, hands buried in the innards of a Mac. "This G3 blew out another fan today. I've been meaning to upgrade to a G5, but you know how Amazon.com is."  
  
"Hmm." I said noncommittally. I could manage my email, but that was about the extent of my computer hacking skills. Hermes stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his hands. He was not your archetypical hacker. His blond hair was cut short, and he was so skinny that he looked like a stiff breeze would blow him apart. He was also as pale as a vampire, which only served to heighten the impression of brittleness.  
  
"What happened to our dear Wesley?" He asked, eyeing Holmes.  
  
"He decided to take a sabbatical."  
  
"Not a government funded sabbatical I hope?"  
  
"No, no. He had a rather severe disagreement with an employer and…well, you know how it goes. Hermes, I would like you to meet a friend of mine. Holmes this is Hermes."   
  
"How d'you do?"  
  
"Pleasure, I'm sure." They shook hands, sizing each other up.   
  
"Where are you from, Mr. Holmes?" Hermes asked curiously. I knew his curiosity was eating him alive. Hermes made it his business to know everyone and everything and Holmes was an unknown quantity.   
  
"Sussex. I've been out of the country for some time."  
  
"Hmm." I decided to interrupt before Hermes got too curious.  
  
"Hermes, I need your help in locating Skyler." Hermes favored me with a long look.  
  
"Shouldn't be hard. I know a guy who knows a guy." Hermes lowered himself into his throne-like swivel chair and tapped a few keys on a keyboard. One of the TV screens across the room flickered and resolved into what appeared to be Skyler's police dossier.   
  
"So far only the Brits are looking for him. Officer Harris Bowman is heading the case, and he's concentrating on the contacts he had from the Tigers case. So far he's turned up a whole lot of nothing."  
  
"Naturally, you have improved upon their pitiful attempts." I prompted.   
  
"Naturally. Shortly after his escape he obtained a credit card and some other false papers from a contact of mine in Manchester. I've been tracking the purchases through the credit card company's computer. One of which was for a prepaid mobile phone. I trapped the number. He's been making arrangements to leave the country. He also paid a visit to your pub I noticed."  
  
"Did you also implant a tracking device under his skin?" I asked incredulously.   
  
"Nothing so crude." He scoffed.  
  
"Then how did you know he was at the Thief?"   
  
"There is an ATM across the street from the pub, correct? The security camera archives onto digital tape, which is stored on an internal network which is in turn connected to an external network." Hermes leaned back in his chair, thoroughly pleased with himself. "Yours is a popular place for our colleagues. We really should set up an information exchange."   
  
"I need all the information you have on Skyler." Hermes gave me another of those looks. He rolled across the room to a file cabinet and pulled out a thick manila folder.  
  
"I was expecting some bounty hunters to request my help." He explained as he handed it over. I flipped through the contents; a mug shot, lists of known contacts, the cell phone number.   
  
"You are a god, you know that right." He smiled and shrugged.   
  
"That's what they tell me. Now, Onyx, you know I make it my business not to pry." Iris coughed slightly. Hermes ignored her. "But I am curious why you would be interested. I heard you were retired."  
  
"Skyler is family." I said finally. "And not in any sort of metaphorical, human-family type way. He's my brother." Hermes nodded sagely.   
  
"Family is always difficult." He said. "Would you like some pizza?"  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
I've said it before, I'll say it again. I'm almost done. Honest. Cross my heart and hope to die.  
  
Many thanks to all y'all who are still reading/reviewing/wandering through. Virtual cookies for all!  
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	14. The Breakdown

Chapter Twelve  
  
The Breakdown  
  
I spent the rest of the afternoon making phone calls. Well actually, just one phone call. I spent about ten minutes being shuffled through the Scotland Yard telephone system and finally wound up with the Narcotics Division of all places. Giving the phones up as a lost cause, I walked to the rather conspicuous black sedan parked down the street and requested that the two young men inside the car inform Harris Bowman that I wished to speak with him. I was pleased to hear the pub phone ringing as soon as I stepped back inside.  
  
"The Clever Thief Pub and Restaurant, how may I help you?"   
  
"Aurora, it's Harris. I trust this is important."  
  
"You need a new secretary. I think I spoke to every department but yours."  
  
"Was there a reason you decided to call, or are you just trying to make my life difficult?"  
  
"I've got Skyler." There was a moment of silence on Harris' end.  
  
"Define 'got.'"  
  
"I can help you capture him. But I want something in return." Harris sighed dramatically.  
  
"What sort of something?"  
  
"Anything."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"A favor, my good man, a favor. To be redeemed at a later date." I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Capturing a wanted fugitive would be a serious career boost, but owing a favor to a known criminal could be a serious liability. Decisions, decisions.  
  
"Fine. As long as it's nothing illegal."  
  
"Nothing immoral." I countered.  
  
  
  
"Done. Now, I assume you have a plan."  
  
"That I do. But at the risk of sounding like a cheesy spy movie, I think the phones are tapped." Harris made an incredulous sound and started to protest that we were on a secure line, but stopped himself.  
  
"Fine. I'll be at the Thief in twenty minutes." He hung up before I could make a witty rejoinder.   
  
"Do you actually have a plan?" Holmes asked. He only heard my half of the conversation, more than enough to get the gist of it.   
  
"Not as such, no. I'm sure we can think of one in twenty minutes."   
  
"We?"  
  
"This is your end of the business, not mine."  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	15. More Phone Calls

Chapter Thirteen  
  
More Phone Calls  
  
*ring*  
  
"Officer Bradshaw here."  
  
"It's Harris my good man. Put the convict on the line."  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Walter Lankenau alias Robin, it is my duty to inform you that you are not obligated to participate or assist in police operations in anyway. However, if you should choose to do so, you will earn the gratitude of both Crown and Country and leniency in the grand theft and fraud case I am currently building against you."  
  
"What fraud case are you talking about?" Robin asked hesitantly, with precisely the wrong note of innocence in his voice.  
  
"The one where you concealed the millions of pounds you stole from the Tigers."  
  
"Ah, that fraud case. I shall be glad to do my civic duty."  
  
"Excellent. We need you to ring your former associate."  
  
*ring*  
  
"What?"  
  
"Skyler? It's Robin."  
  
"I hope you have good news."  
  
"I've got your money."  
  
"That is excellent news. Where can I meet you?"  
  
"The police have me under protective custody. Onyx has the money."  
  
A moment of silence.  
  
"My sister and I don't get along very well."  
  
"That's what she said. She promised me that she would hang on to the money until you came for it."  
  
"At her dive down near the water I assume."  
  
"Yes, The Clever Thief."   
  
*ring*   
  
*ring*   
  
*ring*   
  
"This had better be important."  
  
"Good afternoon Alden. I trust you're well?"  
  
"I would be if I could be delivered from this plague of annoyances."  
  
"One phone call is hardly a plague. Have you finished repairing the machine yet?"  
  
"Another eighteen hours, give or take."  
  
"Give me a ring when you-" *click* "He hung up on me. Cheeky little tosser."  
  
Holmes had retreated into familiar game of pool again. The computer age bore about as much resemblance to Victorian London as apples did to a grande mocha latte, but Holmes had adapted remarkable well. He no longer stared at people talking on cell phones as if they were mad and had finally stopped trying to dismantle my television.   
  
But I could tell that modern living was beginning to wear on his nerves. Hell, modern life wore on my nerves. Half the reason I continued to visit the land of gaslights and hansom cabs was to escape the joys of the 21st century.  
  
"The pieces are falling into place." I informed Holmes. The pub was empty but for the two of us. I had sent Mala home, locked the pub door, and turned off the Guinness sign that hung in the window, a clear sign to my regular patrons that they wanted to be somewhere else tonight. Compared to yesterday's frenzy of activity, the morning practically crawled by. The proverbial calm before the storm. "I just called Alden; the machine should be up and running in a couple of days."  
  
Relief flickered briefly across Holmes' face. "Excellent. I was beginning to fear I might be trapped here forever. I never imagined things could change so much in the course of a hundred years." He paused to sink the nine ball in a corner pocket. "Tell me, did you feel as off balance when you arrived in the present?"   
  
I began to correct him, and say that I had arrived in the past, but stopped myself. All things in the eye of the beholder.   
  
"Probably not." I replied. "Once I knew when I was, I had an idea of what to expect."  
  
"You seem different." He said unexpectedly. At my startled look, he elaborated. "Your personality, your mannerisms. It is a subtle difference, but you act differently here, in your native environment as it were. Perhaps it is just the difference between being on familiar territory and unexplored terrain."  
  
"You seem different as well." I remarked mildly, thinking of that rather chaste (by 21st standards) kiss two nights ago.   
  
"I feel rather different. Being away from Baker Street is rather…freeing." Holmes opened his mouth to say more, but abruptly halted. Well, at least one thing hadn't changed, he wasn't about to get all maudlin about it. The five ball dropped into the side pocket, but not before ricocheting off the eight ball, sending it into the opposite side pocket. Holmes grunted.  
  
Not for the first time I wondered what life would have been like had Holmes been born in 19—rather than 18--. A great deal more interesting for those of the criminal persuasion, no doubt.  
  
*ring* The phone interrupted my musings. I reached under the bar to retrieve the receiver.  
  
"The Clever Thief."  
  
"Good day Miss Aurora."  
  
"Harris, my old chum. How's work?"  
  
"Quite well. Everything is arranged."  
  
"Hurrah." I said flatly. Working with the cops was not my idea of a fun time. "When can I expect you?"  
  
"Right about now." Startled, I glanced out the front window. Harris waved at me. Parked next to the curb behind him was an unmarked white van. I sighed, (could they be any more conspicuous?) hung up and went to let Harris and his team in.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	16. Turnabout

_Yes, I know. This took entirely too long. I've been having panic attack about senior finals and related matters. Can't wait till high school is over with. Anywho, we're on the homestretch here. A thousand thanks to everyone who is still reading after nearly a year of posting._

**_Chapter Fourteen  
Turnabout  
_**  
"I hope this plan of yours works Aurora."  
  
"So do I. Never thought the Thief would be crawling with bobbies." I muttered just loud enough for him to hear me. Harris grinned and sipped his tea out of a Guinness glass. It struck me that both Harris and Holmes had adopted remarkably similar attitudes towards me and my criminal past; they ignored it. Quite strange given their sworn duties to Queen and Country.   
  
Harris was the only one present who had an inkling about my former career. The other dozen officers seemed to think that The Clever Thief's proprietress was simply a citizen with a felonious brother, which certainly made things easier for all concerned.   
  
Holmes had been cornered by one of the younger officers and somehow they had gotten on the topic of discerning ante-mortem injuries from postmortem injuries. Judging by the expressions on the other officers, this was not an unusual topic of conversation for their friend.  
  
The aforementioned plan was simple enough. A sign out front declared the pub closed for a private party (which was composed of plain clothed officers). Skyler was to arrive for his money and receive a pair of silver bracelets instead.   
  
"Here he comes." The officer at the door announced. He was taller than Holmes, considerably bulkier and was wearing a tight fitting black t-shirt to prove that fact. A hum of conversation rose as the officers (and Holmes) fell into their role as a group of white-collar workers at a cocktail party  
  
The bell above the door rang and Skyler strolled in, looking every bit as cocky as the last time he had been here. He only got a few steps before the bouncer stopped him. I couldn't actually hear what was being said, but from the waving of arms I assumed that Skyler was trying to talk his way in. The bouncer turned to me for confirmation. I nodded and the bouncer graciously allowed Skyler to pass.  
  
"Hey sis!" He grinned. I folded my arms across my chest and went for the Disapproving Sister look. Skyler was undeterred. "Some party you got going here."  
  
"It doesn't start for another half hour. Plenty of time to get yourself to Heathrow." I added with a note of unsubtle menace in my voice. This town ain't big enough for the two of us.  
  
"What's the hurry? Cops are watching all the international flights. I might take a train to gay Paris. Plenty of nice museums in France." I realized he was trying to enlist my aid in knocking over a few museums. Lord, he must think everyone is as stupid as him.  
  
"You don't speak French." I pointed out.  
  
"I could learn."  
  
"A pity you won't have a chance." This came from Harris, who was sitting at the bar, badge in hand.   
  
Three things happened very quickly.   
  
First, Skyler realized that he was surrounded by a half-dozen drawn weapons. Though the regular patrol cops didn't carry a gun, other divisions could and did, especially when tracking escaped convicts. Second, I backed quickly out of the line of fire. Third, one of the stools that an officer had kicked out of his away capitulated to the forces of gravity and crashed to the floor, creating a distraction for just the fraction of a second Skyler needed.   
  
He grabbed for the nearest weapon and wrapped one hand around the barrel, and using the other to push the officer into his comrades. A single shot went off, unbearably loud at such close quarters. The bullet went wide over Skyler's shoulder directly in to large mirror behind the bar, instantly shattering it into a thousand fragments.   
  
This all took place in the space of perhaps two seconds, leaving us all stunned and deafened. Skyler's momentum carried him forward. Both the front and the back exit were blocked by burly police officers, so Skyler instinctively took the path of least resistance. Up the stairs.   
  
Harris, to his credit, was only three steps behind him. The rest of the officers pounded up the stairs behind their fearless leader.  
  
I rose warily from behind the bar. Holmes vaulted the bar smoothly and helped me to my feet.   
  
"Are you injured?" He asked. I surveyed the wreckage of my bar, slightly shell-shocked by this turn of events. My sneakers crunched on the glass fragments and I reflected that this was the second pane of glass shattered by a bullet aimed in my general direction this week. Then sensation only lasted a moment.   
  
"Come on," I said to Holmes, snatching the bat from under the bar. My brother and I might not get along, but we definitely thought on the same wavelength. There were only three ways out of the building, the front door, the kitchen door, and the fire escape.  
  
Holmes and I went out the kitchen. I became aware of three things almost instantaneously. First was the presence of Harris on my fire escape, cursing like a Navy man. The second was Skyler, disappearing down the far end of the alley. Third was Holmes, off like a shot after Skyler.  
  
Damn, damn, and damn. Is it too much to ask for things to go according to plan just once?  
  
London is an ancient city, continuously occupied since the Romans built a foreign outpost on the banks of the Thames in the first century anno Domini. Over two millennia the city has been burned, bombed and rebuilt dozens of times, often with little over no regard for the previous design of the city. As a result London is a rabbit's warren of twisting alleyways, forgotten roadways and walled off courtyards that would drive the most dedicated mapmakers round the twist. When I first bought the Thief, I made a point of exploring the alleyways in the neighborhood, sketching my own maps with a compass and some graph paper, partially out of curiosity, partially out of professional caution. As Skyler had just demonstrated, it is always wise to have an escape route.   
  
There is a point to this aside.  
  
I caught up with Holmes at a T-intersection. Thus far we had been able to track Skyler by sight, catching a glimpse of him before he rounded a corner, but this time he had been too quick. Holmes was examining the ground, but there was no convenient puddle or muddy footprint on the cobblestones.   
  
"Split up," he said, "I'll take the right." And so he did, without waiting for acknowledgement.  
  
"It's a double dead end." I said to the brick walls, trying to catch my breath. Mental note: Start going to the gym.   
  
"Then I guess the only way out is through you." Skyler said, emerging from the left-hand turning. "Step aside Sis."  
  
"I thought I told you not to call me that." I snapped. "Besides, you won't get far. The police are right behind me." This was only half-bluff. No doubt Harris was somewhere behind me, the question was whether or not he was on the right trail. Either Skyler saw the bluff or he didn't care.  
  
"You betrayed me." He said, but there was a question implied.  
  
"You started it." I replied, feeling childish.  
  
"If this is about the apartment job…"  
  
"It isn't just about the bloody apartment job!" I yelled and smashed a trash can with the bat. It happened to be one of those older metal deals and made quite a racket. I hoped the noise would attract a stray cop, but no such luck.  
  
"The first time you were here you broke my lock, lost me my security deposit, scared the hell out of my roommate and tried to betray me to the cops. Now you rope me into your stupid schemes, trash my bar and just generally ruin my week. You don't understand." I sighed. Of course he didn't understand, I didn't bloody understand.   
  
"It's about responsibility. You are my brother, so you're my responsibility." I said slowly, trying to articulate ephemeral thoughts. "It's about responsibility and family, because Ma would cry and Da would throw a fit. Responsibility and family and, Lord help me, honor."   
  
"No honor among thieves." Skyler growled.  
  
"Maybe not. But I'm not a thief any more."   
  
"Then who are you?"  
  
A phrase from "The Sign of the Four" unexpectedly ran through my head. "I am an unofficial consultant." I said with a grin. If anything this confused Skyler even more. So he dealt with this confusion the same way he dealt with every problem: direct application of force. He grabbed for the bat. The sudden movement startled me but I held on. We struggled over the bat for a few moments.   
  
I once overheard a man telling his drinking buddies he would never fight a girl; not because of some outdated notion of chivalry, but because girls fought dirty. I kicked Skyler in the shin; it startled him and he dropped the bat, which in turn startled me and I fell flat on me arse. Skyler was on his feet first. He ran down the alley and had almost gained the streets when an empty trash can flew out of nowhere. He tumbled over, coming to rest at the feet of several officers, guns drawn. Harris glared down at him.   
  
"Now then," Harris said, as if there had only been a brief interruption, "Francis Skyler Harland, you are under arrest." _Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨•._


	17. At The Time Lab

****

**_Chapter Fifteen  
_****_At the Time Lab_**

"All of history is within the grasp of this machine."

"Theoretically, yes. But it's stuck on a twenty-five year window from 1885 to 1910. I don't know why. Alden was a little skimpy on the details. Well," I amended, "he said a lot of stuff, but it was all in geek-speak, so that doesn't count."

"When will we return?"

Alden stuck his head in the door. He had been puttering about the time lab, tweaking this and that while Holmes and I tried to stay out of the way.

"To avoid temporal paradoxes and destabilizing the fabric of space-time, it is only possible to move continuously along the temporal axis no matter what actually time frame you are in while you move forward." Alden announced and went back to his equipment. Holmes worked his way through the geek-speak for a minute.

"He means that we will have to return five days after we left?"

"Yeah. Time moves forward no matter where you are. Someguy's Law of Parallel Time, or something like that. Apparently if you tried to go back a minute after we left, it would cause a disruption in the space-time continuum because we weren't there." I wasn't sure how much sense this made. Temporal dynamics tended to give me a headache.

"So one would not be able to travel back a day and give one's self advice?"

"Nope. You can't go back before you left. Can't have two Auroras running around at the same time."

"Thank goodness."

"Hey!"

__

__

_Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints?__ Make your voice heard._

_.•__´¨•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨•._


	18. The Narrative of Dr John Watson

**_Chapter Sixteen  
_****_The Narrative of Dr. John Watson_**

It had been five days since the sudden and mysterious disappearance of Holmes and Aurora. Among my correspondence was a terse note from Mycroft Holmes, informing me that his search for his brother still bore no fruit. Though I was sure that Holmes and Aurora could make themselves vanish from the face of the earth if they wished to, it was disturbing to think that they actually had.

I began to take rather large detours past Baker Street, peering at the windows as the cab drove past, searching for any sign of life. Still, I was surprised when after a late-night call to a patient, as I drove past Baker Street, to see light streaming out of the one remaining window on the upper story.

I quickly ordered the driver to pull over and tossed him a coin. It must have been a large one because I heard his exclamation of surprise as I hurried up the stairs. I let myself in silently. I distinctly heard familiar voices coming from the upstairs sitting room.

My first impulse was to dash up the stairs, but another thought arrested me. Miss Aurora Harland was extremely circumspect about where she was and what she did during the months at a time she would disappear. I clearly saw that she had taken Holmes into her confidence, since he did not express the slightest worry. Now was my chance to gather some clues to finally solve this mystery behind this woman who had appeared so mysteriously some months ago. It seemed from their conversation that they had just arrived.

"Wow, this place looks marginally less like a disaster area than usual."

"No doubt Mrs. Hudson took it upon herself to tidy things up when she was clearing away the remnants of the window."

"Ah good, my bag's still here. I was thinking that someone might have gotten curious and taken a peek inside. A CD player would have been difficult to explain away."

"One of those music devices?"

"Yeah. I wanted your opinion on this band called Voltaire, but the batteries fried going through the machine."

I had slowly been making my way up the stairs, careful not to make the least sound, but as I put my foot on a step, it creaked under my weight. Fortunately, Holmes coughed at nearly the same time, and the conversation continued as if they had heard nothing.

"Will you stay the night?"

"Nah, I'm headed back to the future and my quiet little pub." I noted heavy sarcasm in Aurora's words. But what did she mean by 'future?'

"That is unfortunate, because Watson is on the stairs and I am sure he would like to know where we have been all this week."

My cover blown, as the Americans say, I stepped into the sitting room. Aurora was glaring furiously at Holmes, who was unperturbed. I noticed also that Aurora was wearing one of her unique outfits, black trousers and a grey pea coat.

"You two had the rest of us in quite a stir," I said, a bit coldly, I admit, "disappearing after an assassination attempt and leaving traces of blood behind. Which one of you was injured?"

"It was just a scratch," said Aurora, but I noted a slight stiffness to her movements when she waved aside the question. "We needed to regroup. Figure out who it was and what they were after."

"The men in question were arrested after their cab overturned trying to take the corner at the end of the street too fast. They were relatives of Dunlan, the pilot of the steamer Friesland." I added to Holmes. He merely grunted in acknowledgement.

Aurora glanced to Holmes, whose eyes were fixed on the ceiling and gave no indication of his thoughts. She shrugged and said, as if to herself, "Fine, but I hate being backed into a corner like this."

"Dr. Watson, is it your professional opinion that I am crazy?" Startled, I replied no. "It will be in a minute." Aurora assured me. She pulled something from her pocket and rolled it around in her hand as she spoke.

"I'll tell you what I told him. My name is Aurora Harland, I was born in 1978 and I am twenty seven years old. I was a professional thief, and a good one at that, under the name Onyx until just a year ago when a job gave me enough capital to purchase a small pub near the Thames. Now I'm just the pub owner, and I do a bit of consulting work of my own. So, am I crazy?"

I was too stunned to think. I had thought perhaps that Miss Aurora was running from her past, a jealous lover or something of the like, but instead she was running from the future.

"I'll take that as a yes. Now, here's my proof." Aurora tossed me the object in her hands; I caught it automatically. It was a simple shilling coin but very different from the ones I knew. Instead of Victoria Regina, the coin was graced by the portrait of another woman, Elizabeth II. The date on the coin was 1984.

"This could be a forgery." I said.

"True nuff." Aurora said, pulling a wallet from her pocket. She searched through it, pausing once to mutter "So that's where that went," over a slip of paper. Finally she pulled out a thin card, made of some hard yet flexible material. On it was printed a tiny portrait of Aurora, along with her address and some dates that were a hundred years into the future. The former could be forged; this was so far beyond our technology that it made my head spin.

"So this is your secret; a visitor from the future. I feel as if I have been dropped into an H.G. Wells novel."

"You and me both. Happy now?" She addressed this last to Holmes.

"Yes, infinitely so. I hope you will forgive me my absence without leave, my dear Watson, but I could not return any earlier. And you Miss Harland, I must apologize for 'backing you into a corner' but you are very close with your secrets."

"Yeah," she shrugged, "well, it's kinda hard to explain. How do you open up that conversation? 'I think you should know that I am a visitor from the future.' That sort of thing gets you sent to the nuthouse."

The hall clock struck eleven. Aurora glanced at her watch, then stood. "Sorry to cut and run, but I'm going to cut and run. The meter is about up."

"My regards to your brother."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear them."

Aurora turned to leave, but she paused in the door. "You might like to know, Doctor, that I have read your work. Your talent with the written word is quite excellent."

I was both surprised and pleased at this unexpected declaration.

After Aurora had left, I turned to Holmes and demanded a narrative of the past week. "It sounds as if you found a case in Miss Aurora's time." I said.

"It was more a case of the case finding us, but yes, there was a small matter." He held up a hand to forestall my next question. "I will tell you all, my friend, but first you must promise me that none of this will end up in your annals."

The promise was easily extracted, and so dear reader, I must close here. These notes will find their way to the bottom of my small dispatch box at Charing Cross, and perhaps in another century the tale will be found and published. It would certainly be a fitting fate for such a singular manuscript to bridge the gap of the centuries.

_Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? You know what to do._

__

_Fin! After nearly a year of work I present to you the completed __Aurora__ Harland/Sherlock Holmes trilogy! (Available in a collectable box set)_

_Thank you again to all my lovely reviewers, and virtual cookies to all. I will now attempt to list you all, in no particular order. Gracias a _snowwolf , Hank Riddle, HouAreYouToday, Suzuka Blade, Sigerson, Jilla de la Rio, Nikena, Nightbreeze, tracy, coolpuella, Lady Arianna, MM, Kenta Divina, Lady Riahanna Dragoneye, Fox-In-Shadows, Estriel, Inu Lover, Leper Messiah and Blue Crayon, Silent Beatnik, Maria, teddy, Your Worshipfulness, mariteri, No, Wood is not a stick, u-chan, Kittenchatter, Lady Russell Holmes, Lady Cinnibar, shadowfeysun, Silcatra, Finley, Pinkpanther, rhodesia1, Hermione Holmes, Polgara la Fae, NescienX, S, Lydiby, LA , and Stormyrose. _You like me! You really like me! wipes tear from eye_

_Hopefully there will be more Aurora-Holmes fun in the future, but it's been hard finding time to write recently, what with two jobs and all. (Paying for college is hard! My advice to you is be rich.) _

__

_In response to Lady Riahanna's question of long ago, (which I'm not sure if I answered) my pen name is from the Valdemar series of novels, written by Mercedes Lackey. It's a fantasy genre and Kerown is a bad-ass character in several of her novels._

_  
And so, for now, I take my final bow._

_.•´¨•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨•._


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